


May I have this dance?

by sleepy_sphinx



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (could be read as platonic or romantic), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, And So Is Virgil, Asexual Logic | Logan Sanders, Because of Reasons, Introverts, Logan Sanders is a NERD, M/M, POV Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, POV Second Person, Pining, Prince Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Princeit - Freeform, Roceit - Freeform, Roman Sanders Wears A Ballgown, Royal Ball, Social Anxiety, analogical - Freeform, how the heck do you write a summary, unrequited prinxiety - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-19 10:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20329483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_sphinx/pseuds/sleepy_sphinx
Summary: Although Virgil isn't a huge fan of parties, he's hoping that he can use the Royal Ball as an opportunity to express his true feelings for his friend and crush, Prince Roman. But of course, things don't go according to plan.And maybe, in the end, that's a good thing.





	May I have this dance?

**Author's Note:**

> hello there and welcome to my fic! this fic was originally a writing exercise in 2nd person while i took a break from the longer fic i'm working on, but then i got attached to it and it became a three-part series in my mind and here we are!!!   
before we start, a few things:  
1) this fic was proofread (beta read? i'm still learning all the ao3 terminology lol) by the amazing rosycheeked! she is a fantastic writer and you should totally check out her stuff, especially if you like Stony or Drarry :3  
2) there are some out-of-context spoilers for seasons 1 and 3 of steven universe because sometimes my hyperfixations bleed into each other xP  
3) i actually can't think of a third bullet point but the rule of thirds dictates there should be one sooooo..... (o^v^o) this lil' birb thinks you're amazing and hopes you have a fantastic day!  
And I hope you enjoy the fic~~~

“May I have this dance?” the prince asks. As he does, time seems to slow to a crawl. This is why you came, right? To dance with the prince. As you are both nobles (although as a prince, Roman outranks you significantly) you grew up in close proximity, and you’ve been friends for almost as long as you’ve been alive. But of course, you want to be more. Suffice to say they don’t call Roman “Prince Charming” for nothing– ladies and lads from all over the kingdom would give up their life’s savings for an opportunity to dance with him. But now he reaches his hand to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his beautiful red dress billowing around him, and asks “May I have this dance?”

You’re frozen. You stutter out a shaking “You– you know I don’t know how!” Which isn’t exactly a lie– you’ve had lessons, of course, but they never really stuck. 

But Roman won’t take no for an answer– he only grabs your hand and tugs you to your feet. “Well then, Virgil, I suppose it’s up to me to teach you!” He says brightly, making it sound easy. 

And because of his overwhelming charisma, you find yourself following him to the ballroom floor. The musicians prepare to start the next song, and you fidget with your amethyst necklace for luck.  _ Okay, this is it…  _

And then the music starts– the beginning saunters slowly through the air, a leisurely pace that does nothing to slow down the beating of your heart. Roman turns the hand he holds outward and places his other hand on your waist. Even through layers of fabric, you can feel the warmth it emits. But you can’t think too much about that, or you’ll lose the beat, and you’re unwilling to accept a misstep. Not tonight. You watch your feet with a razor-sharp focus, counting beats under your breath.  _ One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three… _

After a while of waltzing (Roman is leading, of course, but you think you’re keeping up alright) you dare to take your eyes off of the floor. Roman is smiling at you, a grin so bright that you can’t help but mirror it a little. “You’re pretty good, V!” he tells you in a voice that feels like velvet. “Are you certain you haven’t done this before?” 

You’re about to reply, a smile beginning to rise to your lips— but suddenly, there are loud shouts from behind. The noise shatters your confidence like glass, and you stumble hopelessly. For a moment you’re certain you’ll hit the ground, and find yourself broken into a million pieces on the floor– but Roman is there, quickly turning your would-be crash into a dip as though you two have been rehearsing ahead of time. You find yourself blushing, and hope the candlelight will lend you a disguise. Fortunately, Roman has turned towards the source of the noise and doesn’t notice. 

“Ugh, it’s just my brother. Drinking too much, again. The guards’ll probably have to remove him.” Roman’s voice is bitter. You don’t blame him– his older brother’s behavior would be deplorable on its own, but Remus was the eldest of the two boys, meaning that he would be the new king. Even though Roman was kinder, wiser, more charismatic, well-liked... life simply wasn’t fair, was it? But then again, Remus will be forever stuck in an arranged marriage, probably to a princess from a neighboring kingdom. Whereas Roman has the freedom to chose whoever he wishes…

As the dance resumes, you can only hope the prince wishes for an antisocial aristocrat who is a skilled artist and not much else. 

The song begins to speed up, because you weren’t stressed enough. Roman, of course, handles the change like an absolute pro. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s glad the pace has quickened. Knowing the prince, he probably is– Roman lives for excitement, energy, and exhilaration. You, on the other hand, have to revert back to watching your feet:  _ Onetwothree-onetwothree-onetwothree-onetwothree–  _

You’re not really paying attention to the rest of the dance, because you’re lost in your own head and the continuous thought of  _ Alright Virgil, don’t screw this up _ , so when it’s finally over it takes you by surprise. Roman, ever the gentleman, leads you carefully back to your seat. Now that the music has stopped, you notice how everyone’s eyes are plastered to the prince, like searchlights on a ship. Or, more accurately, spotlights on a star. Although it isn’t obvious, the entire ball is watching their belle with bated breath– and, for just a moment, it seems they’re watching you, too. They see how clumsy and awkward and absolutely awful you are, standing next to the prince. You wish that you could run out the doors and away from this place, but Roman’s hand is like an anchor. A reminder of why you are here. So you do nothing but shrink a little as you are guided to your table, hoping Roman will soak up all the attention.

When you finally arrive (it was only a matter of seconds, but you’re practically shaking) Roman asks you, “Now, was that so bad?”

_ It was worse _ , you want to say. But instead, you only mumble, “Thanks for dancing with me, Ro.”

Roman smiles, curtsying with a flourish. “Anything for my best friend!” You awkwardly bow in return, running that sentence through your head. Best? Great. Friend? Shit. You bite your bottom lip, wishing you weren’t such a freaking coward. 

“Hey, V, is everything ok?” Roman asks. He can always tell when you’re upset, which is touching. Or maybe you’re just really obvious about it. He was too kind to tell you when you asked, so you’ll probably never know the truth.

Either way, you start with the typical, “Oh, I’m fine, really, it’s just...” before trailing off. Roman is watching you with wide, worried eyes. This could be your chance! All you need to do is find the right string of words to convey your exact emotions at this moment and not think about how you’re awful with words and your terrible tendency to freeze up when you’re under pressure or nervous like you’re doing right now–

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” a voice like silk says from behind the prince. He whirls around, his skirt twirling with a satisfying swishing noise. Annoyed at being interrupted, you peak over the prince’s shoulder. 

The boy who stands before him has a smirk and slicked-back hair, his head adorned with a golden circlet that looks like a snake. This is probably just an homage to his family crest (you know that one of the neighboring kingdoms has a two-headed snake on theirs, which you think is a weirdly creepy choice) but nevertheless, you immediately distrust him. You can’t see Roman’s face, but you hope it’s twisted in a glare so that you won’t be the only one. 

“Damien! It’s wonderful to finally meet you!” Roman knows the boy’s name. And he doesn’t sound angry at all, he sounds more... no. You don’t want to think about it.

“Well, I was wondering...” Damien practically purrs, “...May I have this dance?”

It’s like watching a carriage wreck– you are powerless to stop it, and yet you can’t look away. You hope for some sort of miracle to arise, but deep down you already know what will happen. Roman turns to you, a sparkle in his eyes that simply wasn’t there before. “You don’t mind if we finish this conversation later, do you?” The prince asks politely. But you can tell that in his mind he’s already on the dance floor with the snake. 

There’s nothing you could say to stop him without erasing that stupid sparkle, so you grit your teeth into a smile and say “Don’t worry about it!” in the brightest tone you can muster. 

Roman’s smile doubles. “Great! I’ll see you later, then.” He turns to Damien, taking one of the snake’s golden-gloved hands in his own. “Shall we, then?” 

Damien smiles. Something about it looked fake, treacherous, almost  _ dangerous– _ fortunately, you have enough presence of mind to realize these signals are just figments of a jealous imagination, but they bug you nonetheless. Your smile disappears as soon as the prince’s back is turned, and you glare at them as they glide to the center of the dance floor.

It’s not a sight you can glare at for long, though. The musicians begin to play, and this time their song is faster, more playful. And the two royal dancers? They’re a thing of beauty– twisting and twirling, their steps synchronized to the beat, their movements graceful in a way you could never dream to be. At one point, Damien twirls the prince, and his skirt flows up like a blooming rose, a perfect red circle in the middle of a perfect ball. All of the guests have abandoned their subtlety and now watch the princes as though hypnotized by their motions. And yet, the two don’t seem to notice. They exist in their own little world, lost in each other’s eyes and arms. Roman looks happier than you’ve ever seen him– which only serves to make you feel worse about your unending jealousy. Despite the speed and energy of the song, it seems to drag on for a millennium. When it ends you breathe a sigh of relief– only to have that same breath ripped out of you as Roman leans down and kisses Damien’s hand. A quiet murmur breaks out amongst the guests– this will definitely be talked about in every gossip circle in the kingdom tomorrow. The two prepare for another round of dancing, and you find you’ve reached your limit. You can’t watch this anymore. You know it’s immature but you bury your face in your hands. You feel jealous and bitter, and guilty, and stupid, stupid, stupid, forever even thinking you had a  _ chance _ –

“Um. Excuse me. Would you like to dance?”

The voice is cold and unfamiliar. At this point, you couldn’t care less about manners, so you don’t even bother looking up when you reply, “I don’t like dancing.” 

“That’s convenient; neither do I. Mind if I sit down?” The stranger’s bluntness intrigues you– and besides, maybe some company would make you feel less horrible. So you lift your head up and nod halfheartedly, and the stranger takes a seat. 

The stranger is wearing a blue cloak, fastened by a diamond-shaped sapphire stone that rests in the center of his chest. The symbol of a Royal Mage, although he looks about your age. Aside from that, he wears a plain black tunic, a brown satchel, and dark-rimmed glasses that make his brown eyes appear bigger than average. He offers you a hand, and you shake– his grip is firm, although his hand is a bit cold. 

“Logan Drew, apprentice to the Royal Mage. A pleasure to meet you,” he says stiffly.

“I’m Virgil,” you reply, although you don’t feel like giving any other information. 

“Terribly sorry to bother you, Virgil,” Logan continues “But the aforementioned mage wanted me to ‘stop being antisocial and enjoy the party’, which he is convinced isn’t the waste of time and resources it obviously is.” Logan glances over his shoulder, where a similarly-dressed man in a pink cloak flashed him a thumbs-up. Then he goes back to entertaining the crowd of people around him– as he swirls his hands, gemstones fly through the air, combining and separating to create entirely new ones. 

“That’s pretty impressive,” you say, watching as a ruby and a sapphire merge into a larger shard of garnet. 

Logan snorts. “Not really– it’s quite simple, actually. Even I can do that. I can show you, if you wish.”

Having nothing else to occupy your time, you nod. While Logan reaches into his satchel, you unclip your necklace and place the gem in front of him. 

“To make sure you’re not cheating,” you say with a smirk. Logan merely shrugs and pulls out a pinkish-white crystal. 

“One Amethyst, one Rose Quartz,” he states, taking the gems in his hands. As you watch with widening eyes, the two crystals begin to levitate out of his palms– although they don’t swirl around with the same extravagant showmanship as his mentor’s. Logan quickly clasps his hands together, and the gems fly into each other. There’s a bright flash of light, and then Logan is holding another, larger crystal. “One Smoky Quartz. See? It’s easy. Manipulating other elements is where the real challenge lies.” Despite his claims, Logan looks rather pleased with himself, so you clap politely. 

Logan smiles at you, separating the gems with another precise movement of his hand. “Here’s your charm back.” 

You take it. Although you would typically avoid starting a conversation, Logan seems like a pretty interesting person– and for a minute there, you weren’t thinking about Roman. So you ask, “What exactly is it that a Royal Mage does, again? Other than party tricks, I mean.”

“Quite a lot, actually. He is a trusted advisor to the king, above all else, but he is also the overseer of the Royal Library, Head of Research for all things magical, and sustains most of the enchantments in the castle itself. My mentor, Mage Picani, also makes a habit of keeping the kingdom’s children entertained with stories and games, but I doubt I’ll be involved with such activities.”

“Yeah,” you add, “Especially since you’ll be an advisor to King Remus.” Technically, you just committed treason– but the kingdom was far past the days of such harsh hearsay laws, and even the current queens had to admit that their oldest son was going to be a disaster of a ruler. 

The comment made Logan crack a thin smile. “Tell me about it.” 

You’re thinking of another question to ask Logan– maybe something about the royal library, that sounded interesting– when he turns the tables.

“So what about you? Why did you get an invitation to a royal ball?”

“Oh. No real reason, but my dad’s an Earl. And I’m friends with Roman.” You hope that last bit doesn’t sound like bragging. You’re surprised that you care so much– it really shouldn't matter what this stranger thinks of you, right? 

Fortunately, Logan doesn't seem to take it that way. Instead, he asks you more questions. “So, what do you like to do?”

“Um. It’s kind of a stupid hobby, but I’m pretty good at drawing. And I like to read, too...” You trail off. “Nothing as interesting as magic, I’m afraid.”

Logan nods. “Hmm.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that. He probably just lost interest– or hey, maybe he’s like you and is a horrible conversationalist. Either way, you find yourself glancing back across the ballroom. The couple has finally stopped dancing, but they still haven’t left each other’s side. A crowd has gathered around them like moths to a torchlight. Damien says something clever, and the entire crowd laughs. You can’t hear what it was over the noise, though. 

“Why are these parties always so noisy?” you complain out loud. 

Logan gasps, and for a moment you think you’ve said something wrong. But then he speaks: “Ugh, I know, right? I can barely hear myself think! Plus, it’s so hot, and I have to wear this stupid cloak, which serves no purpose at all except to give me heat stroke, apparently!”

You smile. “Exactly! And dancing is just stupid. I mean, you step in time to a beat with another person, sometimes you spin. Sounds simple, right? But everyone is watching, and sometimes it feels like your entire worth as a person rests on your ability to waltz. And may the gods help the poor soul who doesn’t have a partner.”

Logan nods. “Building on that,” he says, his voice breaking from its former frigid formality, “The absolute worst part of these...gatherings is how everyone expects you to be comfortable and serene and nice, despite being dragged here by force, and having no reasons to feel at home or happy! It’s not enough to be stuck in a stupid ballroom wasting hours and hours of valuable time, you have to enjoy it! And you have to enjoy it so much that you feel ok with talking to random strangers about literally nothing until it’s time to move on to the next group!” Logan waves his hands in frustration. “It makes no sense!”

“You’re the only person who's made sense tonight!” you exclaim. It’s comforting to find someone who shares your outlook on the whole event, especially when your typical confidant is Prince Extravert Himself. 

Logan sighs, seemingly sharing your relief. “I wish we could just leave.”

You blink. “Well, why not? It’s not like we’re required to be here.”

Logan sits up straighter. “I have the key to the library,” He whispers. “And I know all the best places to hide in there.”

You stand up a little too quickly, almost knocking over the table. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”

As you said before, no guards are stationed at the doors of the ballroom, but you’re still filled with an exhilarating feeling of rebellion as you exit the party and follow Logan down one of the palace’s many halls. 

“Jeez, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner!” The mage exclaims. You’re too embarrassed to admit that you had actually considered not coming, but had changed your mind on account of Roman. Well, at least now you have no conflicting feelings on the matter, right?

In no time, the two of you have reached the great wooden door marking the entrance to the library. Logan fumbles around in his satchel a bit, before withdrawing a small silver key. The two of you share a mischievous grin, and then he slides the key into its place. With a loud  _ click _ , the door swings open. 

“Ok, there’s a pretty nice bay window on the second floor we can hang out in with a view of the gardens, or we can stay on the ground floor and hang out under the owl statue? Or if you’d prefer–“

“Woah,” you say, cutting him off. 

Logan glances back at you with a soft smile. “Ah, this is your first time, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh...” but you’re not really thinking about the question. You’re thinking about the books. Stories and stories of shelves and shelves of  _ books _ . You take a huge breath in– the smell of ink and parchment fills the air, making you smile. The sheer amount of stories these halls held... there really was nothing to say except “Woah.”

Logan is kind enough to give you time to bask in the nerdy glory. Eventually, though, you adjust to your surroundings. “So... you said something about a window?”

Logan nods and gestures for you to follow him as he leads you through the forest of literature and up a flight of dark wooden stairs. The window in question overlooks the courtyard, which is decorated with beautiful colored lanterns (you’re pretty sure you can see the crown prince having a heated debate with a larger blue one) that make the garden look absolutely magical in the lavender light of dusk. 

“Is there some sort of enchantment that makes this so beautiful?” You ask Logan.

He shrugs in response. “Not that I’m aware of. I think it just looks like that. Although I think there’s some magic involved in those lanterns. It’s actually pretty interesting...”

You aren’t really paying attention though; you’ve already taken out your sketchbook and a pen, and have begun to sketch the scene before you. Your thoughts are miles away from the ball– all you think about is the marvelous view and the calming sound of Logan’s voice. You can feel a smile creeping onto your lips as you add details to your drawing. Because yeah, maybe this evening wasn’t going exactly as planned, but this was nice. Really nice. You let out a sigh of content.

Suddenly, Logan stops talking. The lack of noise abruptly snaps you back to reality, and you finally register how rude you were being. You whirl around quickly, expecting Logan to be mad. Instead, he looks... almost embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry, I was probably boring you. I have a tendency to ramble–“

“No! I’m sorry, I should have been paying attention, it’s just... your voice sounds really nice! I was kinda listening to your voice and not your words. If that makes sense?” You know it doesn’t make sense. You bite the inside of your cheek, resigning yourself to losing your newfound friend. 

But Logan doesn’t look offended. He looks... thoughtful, almost. “You know, we could have an almost symbiotic relationship. I enjoy talking, and you enjoy listening– if neither of us mind the ignorance of the social norm, we could make this work.”

You snort. “I’m a gay artist in a family of nobles famous for their athletic abilities and war strength. You think I care about social norms?”

Logan smirks. “As a panromantic ace who is part of a minuscule percentage of the population capable of wielding magic, may I just say– you know nothing of being abnormal.” 

His dry tone makes you chuckle. “What I was trying to say was I’m perfectly ok with just listening to you talk until the party is over.”

“Perfect. Do you mind if I read from a book, actually? It’s one I’ve been meaning to finish.”

You nod enthusiastically and sit down on one corner of the bay window. Logan removes a small blue book from his satchel (you would judge, but it would be pretty hypocritical coming from someone who never leaves home without his sketchbook) and sits opposite you. His voice is clear and calm, a cool stream of words drifting through the air. The book is some sort of mystery novel involving a spell that can record voices and a suspiciously unreliable narrator, but you’re not really paying attention. You’re hard-wired to draw what’s in front of you, so you set about doing that— fortunately for you, Logan remains very still when reading, so it’s not a challenge. At one point, he glances up at you to see what you’ve been drawing, and his eyes grow wide. 

“Uh, is this ok?” You ask, a bit nervous.

Logan doesn’t respond right away; he only continues to stare into his own eyes with a soft smile on his face. “I’m flattered,” He says finally, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“You can keep it if you want, once I’m done.”

Logan nods. “Thanks, Virgil.” He then goes back to reading, but you’re pretty sure his smile is a little wider now. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

As the story winds on, you allow your mind to become as blank as the page your filling. The trauma at the ball downstairs becomes a distant memory, as far away as the stars that begin to dot the night sky outside. You’re so wrapped up in the moment that the man leaning against the stair’s banister goes unnoticed for quite some time. 

“I figured I’d find you here!” The man says jovially. 

Your head snaps around, and you immediately stand up. Logan seems less nervous. “I assume you want me to go back downstairs?” He says, his tone acidic. 

“Well, I’ll give you credit for not being up here alone!” The Royal Mage, Emile Picani, says with a smile, “But yes. I do want you to come downstairs.”

Logan huffed. “But the ball is–“

“A tradition, and something you’ll have to get used to if you’re going to be Royal Mage. It’s a part of your training, just like everything else. Besides, it’s almost over.”

Logan wrinkles his nose. It was clear that the two had had this argument many times, and that Logan has rarely won. “Fine.” He grumbled, sliding his book back into his satchel. 

Picani turns his attention to you. Although he seems friendly, you’re still a bit intimidated by his power. Instead of making eye contact, you examine his ornate cloak. It seems to be decorated by characters from famous stories. “I don’t think we’ve officially met– I’m Mage Picani, although you can call me Emile if you want. It’s a pleasure to finally meet a friend of Logan’s!”

He offers you a hand and you shake it, though you still don’t make eye contact. “I’m Virgil. It’s, uh, nice to meet you too,” You say quietly. 

Logan stands up. “Alright, back into the fray,” he sighs, before begging his decent. You follow closely behind, with Picani taking up the rear. 

Compared to the library, the noise in the ballroom is deafening. Your eyes immediately fly towards Roman and his scarlet dress, but you don’t feel as bitter as you expected. The prince is waving frantically at you, beckoning you to come closer. But before you run to him, you rip the drawing of Logan out of your sketchbook, scribble your address on the back, and hand it to the mage. “We should do that again sometime. And you can write me if you want. But you don’t have to–“

“I will,” Logan says abruptly. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but it almost looks like he’s blushing…

You smile. “I look forward to it.” Then you turn away, and slowly make your way towards the prince.

Roman is still as stunning as ever– years of attraction don’t just dissipate in one day, it seems, which is a shame. Still, you only melt inside a little when he grabs your arm, so you figure you’ve improved. 

“I’m sorry I got so sidetracked! Damien and I have been writing back and forth for a while, but we had never actually met in person– and oh, V! He’s even dreamier than I imagined!” The pang of jealousy in your chest is significantly smaller than it should be, so you’re able to nod along with Roman’s assessment. “But I’m talking about myself again,” The prince continues, “Is everything ok? I noticed you left the party...”

“Everything’s great, Ro,” you say truthfully. Then, in a much softer voice, you add; “I may have met someone myself.”

Roman squeals and gives you a shove. “No way! Oh my god, you have to tell me EVERYTHING–“

Your smile turns mischievous. “Do I, though? But actually, we’re just friends, so there’s not much to tell, anyway.”

Roman groans. “Ugh, you’re no fun! But fine, fine. I’ll get off your back– at least until something interesting happens. Now, I haven’t eaten all night, and I am absolutely starving. You wanna grab a bite?” Roman gestures to a large banquet table at one side of the room, where servants were just beginning to bring out delicious-looking desserts. 

“That sounds great,” You reply. Roman grins and links his arm through yours. As the prince leads you through the crowd, you wonder if he thinks of dancing how you think of drawing. Suddenly, Roman seems to make a lot more sense. And maybe the insurmountable distance between your happy places is a sign that you two aren’t meant to be. But then there’s Roman’s kindness, his loyalty, the beautiful way his eyes light up as he describes what Vigil missed at the party. And you realize that you can’t really be sure. You can’t be sure of anything, at this point. And that’s ok. 

One thing you do know for sure, though, is that you’d never have to ask Logan for a dance. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! i'm not sure when part ii will come out, but if it does it will be a separate story in the same continuity from Deceit's POV. anyway, i hope you enjoyed it, and have a wonderful day!  
~Alice


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